The Beach

There's a hole in the roof, and the rain's coming down. The roads are all flooded. There's no way back to town. The ship we came in on has just run aground. Fate has a funny way of coming around.
The memories we've buried have just taken seed. When springtime comes, they'll turn into weeds. And they'll creep through your window to smother your dreams. Fate has a funny way of coming around.
They'll carve our names likes scripture to their soles of their feet. Each footstep that they take will tell of our deeds. A trail of madness they'll follow and read. Till the flow tide comes to swallow the beach.
This bottle of bourbon is now dry as a bone. It drank us all up and then left us alone. Well, we've since switched to skull pop, but we can't choke it down. You know, fate has a funny way of coming around.